Rockstar

By Robert Lynch

Mucusoids were, according to a recent poll, the most despised race in all the galaxy. It wasn’t their fault. Life as a sack of slime was not their choice, but vertebrate races were repulsed at the sight of them. The fact that evolution gave most races an aversion to the sight of mucus made relationships between a Mucusoid and a vertebrate very difficult. But the Mucusoids had one thing in their corner that made contact with them inevitable. Being a nearly incompressible sack of goo made it possible to live in places no vertebrate could access. Places like underwater mines. It was this access that made Mucusoids the richest race in the galaxy.

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Timmy didn’t like how the other children treated him. It had been alright when they were very young, but as his classmates approached puberty, his friend group was dwindling. He didn’t choose to be made of snot, but it was hurtful the way they teased him. Timmy had one other problem. He didn’t want to be a banker like his father. Timmy wanted to be a Rockstar.

Imagine it. A Mucusoid. A Rockstar.

Convention, and his parents, told Timmy that no Mucusoid would be able to build a following. But Timmy had a plan. If sentients could just hear him sing, he would build a following based on talent without knowing what he was. Then when he was big enough, he would reveal himself to the galaxy. He’d probably lose some of the audience, but his true fans would be there for the music.

Now he just had to learn how to sing.

END

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